Flesh and Sand – Vignette
by dagwood
Summary: Anakin Skywalker’s thoughts on the Clone War, Obi-Wan and Padmé.


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Anakin Skywalker's thoughts on the Clone War, Obi-Wan and Padmé.

Flesh and Sand

Sand. It's everywhere, gets into everything. I hate it. Reminds me of home, of Tatooine.

The grit chafes my skin and I can't get it off. There is little water here, at least none that is safe for use. What little there is has been poisoned by the pollution, the industrial nightmare that is Gorlais. Everything has to be brought in to maintain the troops.

Master Obi-Wan said Gorlais had once been a beautiful oasis in a system of uninhabitable planets. That was until mining companies discovered large duranium sorate deposits just beneath the surface. It is an ore used in the construction of military grade blaster rifles. The strip mining raped the planet permanently scarring the land and damaging its ecosystem in the process.

None of that is important now. All that matters is that the ore remain in Republic control. That is why I am here. My master and several other knights are leading the Clonetroopers against the Separatists and their leader, Dooku–the man who took my arm on Geonosis. 

I have grown used to the cybernetic replacement. Mostly. It will never make up for flesh and blood but I have made a few improvements on the original prosthesis. It serves me well.

My tired muscles force me to stop at the edge of the battle field where I am surrounded by the carnage of fallen soldiers, rebels and the sand is littered with the broken remains of the Federation Droid Army. I don't want to stand there.

I don't want to see it.

Trudging over the battle softened ground, my boots sinking deep into the turned soil I pause once more, caught by the sight of a fallen Clonetrooper. The effect of a laser cannon blast dulled his white armor to an ashen gray. His hand was frozen in the air as if reaching for me.

My real hand searches over the smooth black leather glove that I use to protect the mechanisms of my false hand from the elements. A grain of sand can damage a servo and seriously limit my reaction time.

A split second could decide whether I live or die in battle.

Just beyond my synthetic fingers, I spy the reddish hue, remnants of a battle droid. Strange, the different purposes the same collection of wires and metal can create. Some designed to destroy while others made to.

It doesn't matter the reason I carry a weapon–even a lightsaber–I am destroying with it. Blade cuts through flesh and bone just as easily as it cuts through mindless droids.

The Separatist's think they are fighting a good fight but they are wrong. The Republic is greater as a whole. Chancellor Palpatine is fighting the corruption that has plagued the Senate for so long, but it cannot be done quickly and he is just one man.

I wish I could do more to help.

The Chancellor assures me that I am. I am doing my duty, serving the Republic in its time of need as a Jedi.

Yes, I am a Jedi. I will be a great Jedi Knight too.

If I ever become one.

Over a year into this war and I am still a padawan. I could better serve the Republic as a knight instead of an apprentice doomed to chase my master across the battlefields.

I just don't understand why he is holding me back. He has to know the good I could do free of his watch. I have far exceeded his skills and there is little he can teach me.

The sky is a permanent gray, choked with the refuse of the strip mines. There will be no stars in it once night falls. It does not matter to the battles raging over the world, light or dark, the fighting never seems to stop.

I am tired and wish only for a clean place to lie down and rest if only I could sleep well. The brief respites I am offered are painfully lonely even when surrounded by a dozen other warm bodies in a makeshift bunkhouse.

My heart longs for Padmé's sweet laughter. Her voice. Her touch. I miss her.

Inside the rough construct of the temporary command center–formerly belonging to the Ansthites turned Separatist–there is still no rest from the sand. It is tracked across the gunmetal colored floor, a reminder as if I needed one that I am powerless against it.

I had thought I escaped the sand the first time I left Tatooine.

I was wrong and ten years later, I felt the hot air and grit against my skin once more. It clings to everything.

My soul.

Just like blood. No matter how hard I try to wash it away, the ghost of it remains. With every passing day I grow a little more used to it. Soon the death and destruction of countless beings won't bother me at all.

Some days it is not soon enough.

Across the room full of armor-plated bodies, I spy my master speaking softly to the Trandoshan, Knight Rounn. The deep green-scaled Jedi still looks bright, freshly pulled from a diplomatic assignment into the fighting.

I have heard–felt–the Jedi's numbers dwindling. A few years of war and the Jedi will be extinct. May this war end quickly, although I know in my heart it won't and I will be kept away from my love all the longer.

We will win. The Army of the Republic is on our side and good leaders like my master lead them into battle against the enemy. 

I should be leading an army. 

The sooner this is over.

While my master makes no physical display that he is aware of my presence, he is glad of my arrival. I can feel it through our bond. I return the pulse and lower my shields slightly. Maybe this time he won't comment on how distant I have been lately.

Maybe I won't point out how weary he looks.

But I think it.

I don't want to feel the pain of the war. Obi-Wan carries enough of it for the both of us. Every death, no matter how insignificant adds another invisible stone to his all ready weighted down shoulders.

From across the room, I watch as he retreats a few steps from the knight and approaches the planning table where maps and flimsies cover the surface. Battle scarred hands grip the rickety chair sitting nearby before sinking to it. The frayed edges of his cloak lightly brushed over the sand that litters the floor.

The war is killing him a little everyday.

His meditation rituals are more like mine now. Quick and short because our calm centers elude us. I know I have never truly possessed it, but I think its loss is greatly felt by my master.

Sometimes I try to tease him about the silver that is creeping into his hair and beard. Somehow I don't think he appreciates the humor in it, but certainly he could turn the joke on me. He says I am looking old too.

I wonder if Padmé will recognize me the next time we meet.

Master looks so tired. I don't think he has slept in days. At least not since the ambush at the Kerpok mining camp where a small unit of Mon Calamari raiders had swept in and taken control. They tried to load up a heavy freighter with ore and flee the system with it. We went in with minimal forces as resources were all ready spread too thin over the planet and reinforcement is still days away.

It should have been an easy mission.

Should have been.

The Trade Federation's droid army ambushed and divided us. With the elaborate trap sprung we were left to battle our way out. A number of troopers and conscripted soldiers were lost, including a senior padawan. Her name had been Ajuté. I met her a few times. Our duties often kept us apart so I never got to know her.

It is for the best I think now. I would not want to mourn the loss of a friend.

Obi-Wan, I think, had dealt with her even less, working primarily with her master, Baska, a fearsome Lasskar with shimmering blue skin.

I can still see Ajuté's body wrapped in her dark brown and gold cloak, cradled in my master's arms. Baska was wounded and suffering a step behind him. 

There were plenty of stretchers to move corpses about, but for some reason Obi-Wan chose to carry the fallen padawan.

Maybe I would have too if I had been there.

Thanks to Ajuté, our mission did not fail. The ore in the Kerpak mine is now poisoned by the freighter's fuel when it exploded. The Separatists cannot use it but neither can the Republic.

If there only had been a way to save the ore. The army it could have supplied

We had been separated during the battle. For a time I did not know if anyone else had survived. I had only myself to worry about as I fought my way free and trekked back to the command center. My body ached from the fight. The hot sky burned my skin and the smog filled air threatened to suffocate me.

But I was not alone. 

My beautiful Padmé was with me in my heart. I had to live to get back to her.

I may be Jedi but unlike my master, I am not blinded by my duty. 

Padmé is the stars in my sky. There is nothing in the entire galaxy that can dim my joy in her love.

I live for her.

The sand and blood cannot rob me of my memories. I can still feel my fingers caressing her soft skin. My lips pressed to hers. No amount of fighting can take away the memory of her scent, like flowers in the morning rain. It is ingrained in my senses. A part of me.

If my heart aches it is because I long to be with her and mourn the time we have already lost. I warm myself with the comfort that we will share a lifetime together.

Every day more that I survive the war is a day closer to being with my wife.

My master is calling to me. The Separatist's are gaining ground; they will overrun our northern lines without reinforcements. 

I must go. 


End file.
